


knocked silly

by 49percentchanceofbees



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Amnesia, Awkward Conversations, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Nonbinary Hawke (Dragon Age), Other, Past Character Death, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2019-02-07 15:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12843924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/49percentchanceofbees/pseuds/49percentchanceofbees
Summary: How do you tell someone with temporary amnesia that their entire family is dead? Hey, on the bright side, your dog is doing really well!





	knocked silly

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by ["Consider Hawke with temporary amnesia ..."](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/341985) by kaerwrites. 



> I saw the prompt "Hawke with temporary amnesia" and couldn't help but run with it  
> (go read kaerwrites' version for some really nice fluff; I ended up with "good lord you guys are a disaster")
> 
> I prefer to write Hawke as nonbinary and using they/them pronouns
> 
> I have never even heard the words "medical accuracy" don't hurt me
> 
>  
> 
> [read this on tumblr](http://sadbirbs.tumblr.com/post/163798748427/characters-hawke-fenris-anders-varric-tethras) / [read this on deviantart](https://argetl.deviantart.com/art/knocked-silly-da2-fenhawke-696776613)

The first thing Hawke said, stirring, was, “Uhngh … Anyone get the name of that bronco?”

A palpable sense of relief spread across the room -- more of a sewer alcove than a room, really, but beggars can't be choosers.

“Maybe this'll remind you why people wear helmets,” Anders said, briskly, brushing imaginary dirt off his hands as he turned to pack away his bandages. Or maybe it wasn't imaginary. The man was, generally, a mess.

“Was I not? That does sound stupid of me,” Hawke agreed, clearly amiably groggy. And then: “Who do I have to thank for my recovery exactly? Can I get a name?”

For a moment there was nothing but startled silence. Then Anders said, with a reassuring voice and slightly uneasy grin, “Memory issues aren't uncommon after a blow to the head. It'll probably come back to you soon.”

Fenris couldn't tell if he was imagining the doubt in Anders’ voice on “probably,” whether the mage was actually hiding something or if he was just being paranoid. Again.

“Comforting as always,” Fenris muttered anyway, because sniping at Anders was the best means of stress relief currently available to him. It earned him a scowl, but Hawke started talking again before Anders could offer a retort.

“Memory issues? That would explain why this place looks -- and smells -- so exotic,” Hawke said, still cheerful and a little distant, gesturing around the room. Then they stopped and stared at their own gauntlet. “Wow. That looks expensive. Have I gone up in the world?”

“Ye- _es_ ,” Anders said, glancing around for moral support, and Varric reliably stepped forward with some smooth lies. No, that was uncharitable. Half-truths, at least.

“We’re in Kirkwall, where, since your debut seven years ago, you’ve made a meteoric social rise through daring, wit, and, of course, an excellent choice in friends.”

“Sounds like me,” Hawke said, leaning back against the wall and closing their eyes. “So, give me fair warning: Has my mother set me up with a rich husband yet?”

This time the startled silence had a more panicked note to it, as Anders looked at Varric, and Varric looked at Fenris, and Fenris wondered which piece of news they were more nervous about breaking, that Hawke’s mother was dead or that in place of a rich husband they had _him_.

And Hawke noticed the hesitation, eyes narrowing into a skeptical expression that would’ve been more intimidating without the bandage askew around their scalp. “Is that a yes? Is he an ass?”

“Yes,” Anders said, and then immediately made a face indicating that he wished he’d thought that statement through a little more.

“Alas.” Hawke settled back again. “Does my mother like him? Just how angry will she be if I knock his teeth out?”

“Not at all,” Fenris said, voice ringing flat. “She’s dead.”

Hawke was on their feet almost before Fenris could mentally berate himself for that; Anders and Varric barely had time to stare at him as if he were mad, which he possibly was. “ _What?_ ”

“Sit down!” Anders said, jumping to Hawke’s side: they barely staggered, impressive, but Fenris saw their head drop dizzily, because he was there too without any memory of moving, and Hawke braced themself against the wall and pushed Anders away and grabbed Fenris by the shoulders, roughly.

“ _Where is my mother?_ ” Hawke said through gritted teeth, wild-eyed.

No skirting the issue now. “She’s dead, Hawke. I’m sorry.”

“Did you _kill_ her?”

“No!”

“Then what are you sorry for?” Hawke shoved Fenris away before he could answer, putting a hand over their face and sagging back against the wall. Next they were going to ask about their siblings, Fenris suspected -- and from the looks on Anders’ and Varric’s faces they thought so too -- and there was nothing but bad news there, either. What were they supposed to say? _On the bright side, your dog is doing really well?_

“Hawke -- ” Varric said.

Hawke's eyes, when the gauntlet came down, were intense -- and dry. “Bethany? Carver? They must be …”

Looking at the others’ faces, Hawke trailed off. 

“They're gone,” Fenris said, because someone had to, and he was already the bearer of bad news. Might as well go all in. 

Hawke gave a chuckle that sounded more like a croak. “Is there anyone who isn't dead?”

“Your uncle Gamlen,” Varric said. 

Anders said, “Your dog.”


End file.
